


Hellwarden's Hunger

by Mechanized



Category: Heroes of the Storm (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Demons, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 09:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechanized/pseuds/Mechanized
Summary: Her prey was her own.





	Hellwarden's Hunger

**Author's Note:**

> Keep in mind this follows Maiev's Hellwarden skin variants lore posted down there. 
> 
> "Demonic "justice" is cruel and sadistic. The Hellwardens who serve Andariel understand that inflicting physical pain upon their prisoners is not enough. True anguish comes from torturing the mind and soul."

Cold.

No, neither of the two figures in the confounded area could feel that. Walls, chains, and any dreaded aged shackles showed that description true without it. Darkened, bloodied, rusty, each soul present could have chosen whatever phrase they wished for; that was, assuming either endured the eternal torment hellwardens serving Andariel relished in.

This _was_ a prison cell.

Sound was long forbidden; screams, cries of the lost spirits were eternally bound to be unheard. No ears to listen for their pleas — angelic and mortal alike. Realm of Anguish abide by no order or laws, yet the unheard rule was all present. Surrounding halls proved true, few victims still bearing conscious throughout their period of imprisonment in Hell; yet they all but gave in to the psychological torment albeit quietly. 

And thus that proved no difficult task for the angelic entity.

The female lesser evil was not keen on time misused, and Death was a hasty learner; if there was noise in the quiet ominous halls, even the angel’s attention was to be brought up. Many a personnel were not to be found in the hell’s infernal quarter; demon, hellwardens or the mistress herself, it was a small pool of possibilities. But perhaps, one of the three intrigued the fallen wisdom. The unfamiliar servants never seen before even in the depths of hell posed mild interest as patience awaited the oncoming trail of metallic plates advancing.

_Kling, klang, kling, klang_

Like a pastor to the sheep the image formed and the lyncher came to punish the sinner.

But the angel of death was no sinner and neither was the warden a cleric coming to expunge the angel’s wrongings.

There were none, after all.

Faceless expression studied the figure. Unusual image for one of the Burning Hells; few of the dim colors merging together on the shadowed plate armor. Appearance or not, it mattered little. It was the blooded stare of vengeance that peered the prisoner down. A sight to savor for the demons, they had the Aspect of Death bound to chains in their cell, knees down, stoic as he ever remained in the High Heavens. Lustful pleasure for all fiends to dig their claws at the chained former Archangel; all to be swayed away by the same unmoving figure who’s gaze kept unchanged.

No words — no sound to be made from the huntress nor her pray. Pair of eyes studied the stillness, the motionless posture, lack of expression, movement, _breath —_ everything the angels in the Heavens wondered about but had no likelihood of learning up close.

But now, it was given. Hellwarden’s pray. The hunt _she_ caught _herself._ It was _hers_ and _she_ was to rejoice in it.

The one known as Malthael, Aspect of Death, was _her_ prisoner.

Unknown were the acts as the indication towards advance was lacking on both sides. Beings alike were not aware of the circumstances one endured in hell, one had to face that first hand for all eternity; thus did the captured entity remain calm; patient, awaiting. He didn’t speak, she spoke when necessary, but gestures played on both parts when induced.

And so they were.

Light creak of the iron plate helmet blowing through the quiet air as a crank of a music box pulled upon. Curiosity was apparent in the motion, followed by an additional sound came the soft sway of the gauntlet at the skeletal energy mildly floating about. It did gain the attention required, as a tilt of a head in the said direction was made and the angel studied his own reactions towards a demon’s touch. Unlike with mortal circumstances, the contact did not impair the giver. Hellspawn appeared able to pass through the angelic invulnerability upon their own body.

Unsurprising to the former Wisdom.

Movement shifted, circling the line of ghostly energy which formed the wing itself with the same tenderness as before. Elven’s fiend’s gaze unmoving, focused on learning the short stirs her gentle trail made. Despite, all reply she was given in return was a light shift of the hooded hollowness towards her gloved gestures. Unchanging, but the act did not stop. Fragile strokes did no further than gain what reaction she was given, and the angel kept silent.

“You feel this. I know it.”

Armored fingers nonchalantly lingered back where their actions begun; clawed nails pinching the ethereal joint connecting the two sides of the winged shape. It was the first of the movements received in return as a sudden shift was made, followed by all but a visible outline of a supposed face mildly narrowing downward.

It hardly went unnoticed by the jailer, cruel claws repeating the same action as before albeit with a different touch to it. They _ripped_ at the dim energy trailing back at the armored base holding the core of the wing. At every painful caress came a whisper. Quiet, fragile sound that was not afraid of voicing itself but instead made no words to form. At each abusive stroke there was a lament, an audible but concealed hiss like a melody following the gory path the hellwarden forged. It was a first the angelic entity uttered, the first of that dreaded echoing voice a few could only hear speak. Delight was clear in the act, Andariel’s servants sought pleasure from the cries — the moans, only unforbidden forsaken sound the Anguish quarter allowed. But as her hand reached the end, so did his music.

And there she stood; hand curious as her own masked expression to continue. It drifted with the familiar soft rub at the ebony cloaked back. No change in posture, her victim remained placid, vulnerable at her mercy; huntress herself giving no response to the silent atmosphere. It was a blind look holding them connected and talking — until a crude interruption echoed throughout the prison cell.

“ _What is this meaningless delay?! Do not waste time maiden!”_

Quiet lasted only a few mere moments before the a short, quick and sharp retort voiced itself out, red stare umoving off of her prisoner.

“Silence, wretch. My hunt is my own.”

And just like that the voice faded, entirely shut out of the small containment cell two figures were in. Magic one might call it, but rather it was the demon’s own doing.

The aspect listened, still watching the lesser deny even their own. Hell was chaotic, each and every fiend working for their own, smaller, more selfish goals. Loathing each other and going against orders was a frequent occurrence. Actions were familiar, similar to Heaven’s own, albeit incessant.

Solidarity returned with haste and  confidence of their continuation was clear. The female leaned, creaks of the armor bending surrounding their hearing, horned helmet closing on upon the cloth of the robe. Yet distance was kept, only allowing the rested palm to move further from it’s position and into a new one.

Plated fingers trailed toward the skeletal shoulder pads, inspecting, _feeling_ every aspect of Death himself.

But armor was not enough, there was something she had needed to taste.

Eager did the gloved thumb pull back the cloth, allowing the remaining flesh to grasp the darkness inside. Be it the covering disallowing any definition of exactly what was touched or something else, it changed little for her. She _felt,_ arm _grasped_ the jawed outline of the ethereal energy inside. Hard, soft, — it was an opportunity which could seemingly disappear was she to let go.

Merciless grip clutching the jaw angle, yet emptiness was there; in return it was treated as such. Lovingly, fiercely, was it stroked to where the unseen lips played a part.

Even throughout the tame events, the Aspect posed little reaction. Despite his jailer standing bent offering complex gestures Death all but embraced received acts. It was a simple shift of a hooded motion to follow her own.

 

Curiosity was replaced. The _want_ , the unfulfilling desire of pure untamed malice coursing at her new asset the angel held. It would be an eternity before sated.

Second hand came clutching the other side of the unseen jaw; both thumbs trailing ways over the nonexistent face. Hungry for the being himself. Plate covered helmet leering few mere distances away, blood-soaked gaze devouring the hollowness.

“You toy with forces beyond you.”

Glowing ghostly energy radiating illuminating Maiev’s fangs.  

“And I regret no second of it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tried a new style of writing. I'd appreciate feedback if the descriptions were hard to follow!


End file.
